


Usufruct

by Theobule (Saathi1013)



Category: Boy Meets World, Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Getting Together, Multi, Other, POV Female Character, POV Third Person Limited, Podfic Available, Polyamory, Some Humor, Threesome - F/M/M, Unconventional Families, background Riley Matthews/Maya Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5792665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Theobule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Riley and Maya start dating, Topanga discovers something she didn't know about Cory, Shawn visits to write a story and lend support, and then things get complicated.</p><p> </p><p>(see author's notes re: pairings & rating)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is primarily a fic about the adults - though there is some Maya/Riley, and mention of prior Cory/Shawn, there is **no** explicit underage content in this story. The rating is all for the parental OT3.

Late in the afternoon, when everyone's home and settled, after school and extracurriculars and work but before dinner, there's the briefest, most blessed of windows when the house is (relatively) quiet. Cory calls it 'the homework lull,' because that's what the kids are supposed to be doing, and Topanga often uses the time to review depositions or to look over the books from the bakery while Cory makes inroads on his never-ending grading. The kids, being kids, aren't always doing what they're _supposed_ to be doing, but Topanga doesn't mind if Auggie plays an hour of video games if it means a bit of peace, and they all know better than to try to separate Riley and Maya for very long.

The homework lull doesn't happen as regularly as they'd like, some new shenanigans always spilling over to disrupt any kind of reliable schedule, but Topanga learns to treasure the time she does get, curled up next to her husband on the couch, a big mug of tea within reach.  Sometimes it's wine - well, sometimes she _wishes_ it were wine, but she saves that for special occasions, after dinner and when the kids are asleep.

When the girls traipse down the stairs not ten minutes after disappearing into Riley's room, Topanga can tell it's going to be a 'wishes it were wine' day.  Riley's mouth is pressed so tightly into a thin line that even her dimples look stern, and she's towing Maya by the hand.  The latter trails behind her with eyes so wide and a face so pale that Topanga wonders if they need to set better boundaries on balcony traffic.  Minkuses tend to have pushy streaks.

But no.  "Mom, Dad," Riley announces, "we need to tell you something."

She sounds so serious that Cory doesn't quip, just sits up and laces his hands primly atop his knees, echoing Topanga's posture.  "You know you can tell us anything," he replies with equal gravity.

Riley takes a deep breath.  "I need you to not freak out, okay?"  Topanga links her arm in Cory's just in case she has to keep him in his seat.  Riley continues, her words starting to tumble and tangle, "because I know how protective you get, and that I probably should have told you sooner, but it's not actually like I really know when it started anyway, but now that I _get_ that I'm dating someone, and that's the kind of thing you usually want to know..."

"Pumpkin," Maya says, "you're babbling again."

"You're dating someone?" Topanga asks, once she's sorted out the message from the nervous chatter.

"...you're _dating someone?_ " Cory echoes, and sure enough, Topanga has to yank him back down to the couch by his elbow.  He turns to her.  "She's dating someone, Topanga!  I thought she got it out of her system the _last_ time!"

The Last Time involved a tearful goodbye at the airport, two weeks of increasingly brief and sad skype sessions, finally culminating in three pints of ice cream in as many days (one Cherry Garcia, one bubble gum, and one generic chocolate that Cory ran out to get from the corner store at eleven pm).  The next time Topanga sees Lucas Friar's parents, she's going to bill them for damages, as soon as she figures out what her little girl's broken heart is worth.  Her current estimate (twice the national deficit) seems a bit low.

"When do we get to meet him?" Topanga asks, trying for 'cheery and upbeat' and probably hitting closer to 'tensely interrogative.'  Shit, her lawyer voice is coming back.

"Um," Maya says, mostly hidden behind Riley.  She gives a half-hearted little wave and a faltering smile.  "Not a him?"

When the penny drops, Topanga gets her game face on _real_  quick.  Whatever they say next is going to echo in their little girl's head for the rest of her life, so they better not screw it up.

"You're dating _Maya?_ " Cory asks Riley.  Her face is pink, but she nods so fast that it's mostly hidden behind a bouncing curtain of hair.  "That's great!"  He sounds genuine, thank god, and maybe a little... manic, actually?  "Topanga, did you hear, Riley's dating Maya!"

"I heard," Topanga says smiling right back at him before holding out a hand to Riley, who takes it cautiously.  "Thank you for telling us.  I know it had to be hard for you, and I'm so, so proud of you for being so brave."  Riley nods again, a little less skittish now.  "Does her mom know?"

"...she kind of guessed," Maya says, her voice muffled.  Topanga looks over to see Cory hugging their daughter's _new girlfriend_ , beaming and petting her hair like she's a puppy.  "Um, Mr. Matthews?  It's getting kinda hard to breathe."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just," he steps back only to immediately envelop both girls in his arms.  "I'm just so _happy_."

"Okay, honey, let go," Topanga says, standing and helping the girls extricate themselves.  "Maya, I'm probably going to be calling your mom later so she and Cory and I can all talk about whether we need new ground rules for you coming over, but even if things do have to change a little, we still love you and consider you family, no matter what happens, okay?"  

Maya shrugs, looking away.  "Yeah, sure," she says, a little too quick to be nonchalant.

Topanga gives in and steps forward to give Maya a hug of her own, quick but real.  "I mean it," she says quietly before stepping back.

"Okay," Maya says, sounding more like she believes it.  "Can we go back upstairs now?  I think I've filled my quota of awkward coming out for one day."

"Yeah, go on," Cory says, and quick as a shot, they're off again.

"Leave the door open," Topanga calls after them.

"They'll be _fine_ ," Cory says magnanimously, settling back down on the couch and reaching for the report he'd been reading.  Faintly, from upstairs, comes Riley's distant _yyyaaaaaay!_ and Topanga suppresses a smile.

"You seem awfully agreeable about this," she says, sitting next to Cory.  "Do you maybe want to talk about it?"

"What's to talk about?" he says, glancing up and then doing a double take, frowning.  "You honestly didn't think I was going to have a problem with--?"  He gestures, clearly unsure of what term to use.  Labels can come later, when Riley's ready.

"Well, no, but," Topanga chews on the inside of her cheek, "you almost seem like you're overcompensating?  Maybe a little?"

Cory shakes his head.  "No, look, all I want is for our little girl to be happy.  And I know that besides us, Maya's one of the only other people in the whole world who considers that a priority, too.  We've seen them fight and make up a thousand times, and I really don't think she'll ever hurt Riley in any way that she won't try her hardest to fix again."

Topanga settles back against the couch, resting her head on Cory's shoulder.  "You're right.  Plus, we've known her for years and we know her family and her grades and everything else about her..."

"Right," Cory says.  "She's not some unknown quantity like _some people_."  He doesn't say the name 'Lucas Friar' if he can help it.  He'd refused to say the word 'Texas' in the same room as Riley for three months after The Last Time ended, which had made the lesson about the Alamo _super_ confusing, by all accounts.  "Besides, there's no reason to think this is serious, it could just be, y'know, kid stuff."

Topanga laughs.  "Right, kid stuff.  Like you and me kid stuff?  They're practically old enough to drive."

"Don't remind me."  Cory shudders.  "But no, they don't remind me of _us_ ; it's not the same thing.  They could just be figuring stuff out.  It'll all be fine."

Topanga shifts away, staring at him.  "You don't think they could be serious?  What, because it's two girls?  Or because they remind you more of--"

Halfway to outrage on their daughter's behalf, it's almost like whiplash when her train of thought trips over a growing suspicion.  "They never reminded you of us, they always reminded you of _you and Shawn_."  Either the paper he's reading is really good or Cory's trying extra hard to pretend he doesn't notice her staring at him.  "Did you and Shawn ever..." she can't say it, she can't, "...' _figure stuff out_ '?"

He ventures a cautious, sidelong glance at her, and that tells her all she needs to know.  She pushes all the way back to the other side of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.  "This whole time-" she starts, the air thin in her lungs, "-this _whole_ time, for _years_ , you never told me?  You never said a _word_.  Why would you think that's okay?"

"It wasn't serious," he tries, dropping the paper to spread his hands wide, palms up and open.  "It wasn't important, it was just-"

"Kid stuff," she finishes for him.  "When was this?"

Cory shrugs.  "I don't know, years ago.  Not while you and I were dating though, if that's what you're worried about."  His expression is earnest and open, and she wants to trust him, but.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" she asks.

"Come on, Topanga, that's not fair," he protests.

She arches an eyebrow at him.  "Do you _really_ want to talk about fair, right now?"

"...no?" he says.

"Didn't think so."  Topanga gets up, paces a few steps back and forth, trying to get the jumble of her mind in order.  She has a thousand questions, and they're all log-jammed in the back of her throat.  She doesn't know which she wants to ask first.  She doesn't know if she wants to know the answers to half of them.

She gives up.  "I need some wine," she says, and just as she reaches the kitchen, the front door opens to an all-too familiar sing-song voice. Inevitably, the sound of Auggie's excited shout follows as he thunders downstairs to meet Ava.

Topanga grips the edge of the sink and sighs.  " _Ugh_ ," she mutters.  "Guess the lull's over."

***

If things are strained between Cory and Topanga at dinner, the kids don't seem to notice.  Riley's too busy trying to explain to Auggie how she and Maya are dating now, and Maya's eyeing the exits.

"...so if you go to the movies, who buys the popcorn?" Auggie asks, just the latest in a long line of stupid questions.

"We do everything just like we normally do," Maya says through gritted teeth.  "Except now we hold hands while we do it."

"You _already_ held hands," Auggie counters.

"Yeah," Riley says, a dreamy note entering her voice as it goes quiet, "but now sometimes we kiss, too."  She jerks in her chair as there's a thump under the table like Maya's kicked her, but her sappy expression doesn't change.

"Okay, that's enough, I'm happy for you two but we don't need the details," Cory says, jumping to his feet to clear the dishes.  "Not that there are too many details to tell, I hope."  The girls give him twin guileless expressions and he sighs.  "Okay, I am _so_ not ready for that conversation right now.  Let's just stick a pin in it, okay?"

"Sounds _great_ , Mr. Matthews," Maya says with evident relief.  

"Let me help you with these plates, Dad," Riley says.

Auggie turns to Maya.  "So if you get married-" he starts.

"Riley, if I dunk your brother in glue and cover him with sequins, can I sell him on Etsy?" Maya asks.

Riley considers this.  "Mom, if Maya dunks Auggie in glue-"

"No," Topanga says before she can finish.

***

Riley is too old to need tucking in, but after Auggie goes to sleep, Topanga stops by her room anyway.  "Hey kiddo," she says, finding her daughter awake, sitting on the window-seat, staring up at the sliver of inky sky between buildings.  Sometimes she wonders if they should have gotten a house with a proper yard for the kids.  They wouldn't have (ugh) Ava to deal with - but then, they wouldn't have Maya, either.  "Wanna talk?  I can't say I'll have all the answers for all the questions you might have..."

"It's okay, Mom," Riley assures her.  "I have the internet."  Topanga's heart stops for a second.  "And Maya still won't let me use it without safe search on, so I'll be fine."

Topanga laughs a little, crossing the room to sit next to her daughter.  "Well, I guess that's all right, for now.  But I'm here, okay?"

"Yeah," Riley says, leaning back against her.  "...actually, there is one question I think only you can answer."

"What's that, sweetheart?" Topanga says, stroking her daughter's hair.

"Were you scared?  I mean, when you started dating Dad.  Were you afraid you were going to lose your friend and that everything was going to change, or did you just know that it would all be okay?"

Topanga hugs Riley tight, resting her cheek against the top of her head.  "Oh, honey.  I was so scared.  I loved him so much but there's never any guarantees, even if we want to believe there are.  We broke up a few times, you know."  Nine times, to be exact.  She doesn't like to think about it, but she keeps count.

"Really?" Riley sounds shocked.

"Really.  Once while we were engaged.  My parents had split up, and I didn't want to see what happened to them happen to us.  But we aren't them, we're us.  And you and Maya aren't anybody but you and Maya.  That's what makes you so special.  Don't forget that."

"Yeah," Riley says.  "We _are_ special."

They sit like that for a long time, listening quietly to the sounds of the street filtering up from below. 

***

Cory's downstairs grading papers when Topanga turns in for the night.  She chews on the inside of her cheek for a bit, and then, decided, picks up her phone and closes the door.

_You up?_ she types.

_Yeah I'm 3 hrs ahead remember?_

_Right._  She stares at the screen, trying to figure out what else to say.

_What's up? Everything ok?_

She doesn't know how to answer that.   _Think so._

_Hey my boss wants me to do a series on urbexing, there're a few ppl in NY I can interview.  Can I crash w/you?_

She knows it's an offer, not Shawn asking for a favor.   _Anytime.  What's urbexing?_

_If I explain you'll tell me not to._

She laughs.  God, it's _Shawn_.  She's supposed to be mad now, but it's _Shawn_.   _Going to need a good attorney?_

_I hope not but I'm glad I have one on speed dial._

_V. kind, ty.  Tell me about it when you get here._

_Will do._

_Night, Shawn._

_Gnight, T.  See you soon._

Topanga looks at the clock, sees that it's after midnight.  She pads downstairs in her pajamas and bare feet, toes curling against the cold floor.  Cory's nodding off at the dining room table, stacks of paper in an indecipherable array across every flat surface within arm's reach.

"Sweetie," she calls quietly.  "Come to bed."

He startles, blinking owlishly, sleepy and confused.  "...wha?"

"C'mon.  Sleep now, talk later."

"Okay," he says, gathering everything up in a precise order and tucking it away in his bag before following her upstairs.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Topanga glances up from a vendor contract to find Shawn coming through the door to the back room of the bakery.  He looks travel-worn, but the smile on his face is like the prospect of sleep after a week of all-nighters. She drops the file folder on top of the boxes of brown sugar and hugs him without thinking. "Hey, Shawn," she says into his shoulder.

"Hey Topanga," he says, voice warm but worried.  "Katy said I might find you back here.  So what's wrong?"

She steps back, brushing down the lapels of his jacket where they're rumpled.  "Why do you think anything's wrong?" she asks, not meeting his eyes.

"Because you never vaguetext me," he says.  "You send me photos of the light from the sunset on the view from your office window, or of new weird food you've tried, or of the girls making funny faces, or Cory... _also_ making funny faces.  You tell me what Riley's last grades were and when you won a case and when you saw a pigeon that reminded you of Eric.  You _never_ vaguetext at midnight.  So tell me what's wrong."

Topanga turns around, backs up into the small corner where they've crammed in a desk and a filing cabinet, and sits on the creaky little rolling chair.  She says to the bags of flour: "Cory told me about how when you two were kids..." she trails off, gesturing wordlessly, still not sure how to say it out loud.

Shawn chuckles, leaning against the edge of the desk.  "You're going to have to be a little more specific, Topanga, we kind of got up to a lot of stuff when we were kids."

That doesn't help.  "No, no, I'm talking about... stuff that's private."  She sets her jaw and looks up at him, willing him to understand.

Shawn blinks, grin fading.  "Oh," he says.  "Oh, wait.  You mean--  Wait.  I thought you _knew_."

"Nope," she says.

"But you always... acted like you knew," he says, sounding lost.

She exhales the ghost of a laugh, more air than amusement.  "How would I know, Shawn?"

"I figured Cory said something," Shawn says, with a jerky hitch of his shoulder.

"Nope," Topanga replies again, gaze dropping to somewhere around his knees.  "He said it ' _wasn't important_.'"  She says the last with air quotes.  "That it was just ' _kid stuff_.'"

Shawn doesn't answer for a minute, and she looks back up at him.  His sightline is trained even higher, like he's memorizing the shape of the crack in the wall across the kitchen.  "...yeah, that sounds about right," he says quietly.  There's a familiar note in his voice, but it's all wrong in this context.  He sounds like that when he talks about his parents, about Angela... but never when he's talking about _Cory_.

"...Shawn?" she says, reaching out for his hand.  Unsure, but feeling the instinctual need to reassure, to _be_ reassured, by one of her oldest, dearest friends.

"No," he says, voice rough as he stands up from the desk, moving away, out of arm's reach.  "No, don't you _dare_ get the wrong idea about this."

"Would I be wrong if I said that you love him?" Topanga asks.

Sighing, he runs his hand through his hair, that old, old gesture that she knows so well.  "No, but.  You're looking at me like I'm someone else all of a sudden, but I'm _not_.  I'm still Shawn Hunter, Cory's best friend, _your_ friend, and yeah, I love him, you've heard me say it a hundred thousand times, but when you hear me say it tomorrow, it'll still mean exactly what you always thought it meant before you found out."

"...that almost made sense," she says.  "But if I tried to diagram that sentence, it'd probably end up as tangled as a subway map.  Help me out, here?"

Shawn closes his eyes and speaks carefully, pacing his words deliberately, enunciating, "I love Cory, I do, but I don't want you mentally rewriting everything from the last twenty years as if everything you thought was wrong.  Nothing you've ever known of me has been a lie, I've never hidden my feelings to save yours, and I'm so, _so_ glad to have you both in my life."  He lets his eyes open again, and there's so much emotion there that she has to catch her breath.  "Please believe me."

"I do," she says.  "But... were you ever _in_ love with him?"  She hates that she has to ask, but she needs to know.

He laughs ruefully.  "Does it even matter?  See, the thing is, Topanga, not everyone is you and Cory.  Not everyone falls in love with someone when they're kids and it sticks forever.  The rest of us aren't so lucky.  We love and lose and love and lose, over and over, and I figured out real early that it's possible to be in love with more than one person.  Which is good, 'cause otherwise, one heartbreak would've taken me out of the game a long time ago.  If I ever was in love with him, it doesn't matter now.  I loved Angela, too, and after her, I loved Tomás and Piper and Lilah, and maybe someday I'll love someone else."

"Tomás?" Topanga asks.  "Isn't that..."

"The guy who was my writing partner for a year and a half, yeah."

"What happened to him?"

"Turns out, we were looking at cities in different ways.  I wanted to explore each one, write my story, and move on, and he wanted to find someplace to put down roots.  He found what he was looking for, so our story ended, and I moved on."

He makes heartbreak sound so banal.  Then again, it's been the only constant in his life, except maybe --

"Shawn's here?" they hear Cory shout, followed by Katy's laugh and the door swinging open.  "Sha-- oh."  Cory rocks back on his heels, consternation writ all over his face.  "This can't be good."

"It's fine, Cory," Topanga says, slapping her palms against her knees and standing.  "Everything's fine, he wanted to say hi to Katy, found me here, too."

Cory frowns and Shawn's gaping a little, clearly having trouble processing the sight of _Topanga lying to Cory_.  His mouth snaps shut when Cory looks to him for confirmation.  "What she said," Shawn says, and it doesn't sound convincing to Topanga, but Cory seems to buy it.  

"Well, I'm still glad to see you," Cory says finally.  They share an awkward, brief hug, and Topanga looks away.  "How long are you in town?"

"Not sure," Shawn replies, shoving his hands in his pockets.  "Depends on how long it takes to write this story."

 

***

 

Riley's delighted squeal when she sees Shawn is a long way away from her old shyness around him.  "Oof," he says when she hugs him tightly.  "Are you taller?  I thought you agreed to stop getting taller."

"I agreed to no such thing," she declares.

"Maybe you're getting shorter, old man," Maya offers, hanging back until he offers an arm that she ducks under, hiding her grin as he squeezes her shoulders.  Topanga nudges Cory in the side, and they busy themselves in the kitchen, giving the kids some space with Shawn but shamelessly eavesdropping. 

"No, no, don't you start that old man stuff with me, give me until you're in college, please," Shawn protests.

"Whatever you say, grandpa," Maya says, beaming openly.

Shawn makes a face at her but otherwise lets that slide.  "So your mom told me the news," he says.  "Congrats - is it weird to say congratulations?"

Riley gives him a wide-eyed look.  "Oh my god I'm going to _kill_ her," Maya says.

"No, no," Shawn says, holding up his hands, "She thought maybe you'd want to talk to someone that, you know, might understand what you're going through, that's all."

"...what?" Riley says.  "Are you _gay_ , Uncle Shawn?"

"I thought you liked my mom, you jerk!" Maya says, giving him a good shove, rocking him back on his heels.

"I do like your mom!  I've also been known to like guys."  Shawn shrugs.  "It's different for different people.  You don't have to figure it out right away, but if you ever wanna talk, I'm here."

"Window!" Riley blurts, after a moment.

Shawn goes along quietly, with only a faint trace of apprehension.  Topanga and Cory give him the thumbs up before he disappears.

When they're all gone, Cory turns to Topanga.  "Okay but really, did you and Shawn talk?"

"Did you drop Auggie off at the Whitmans'?" Topanga asks, starting the faucet and grabbing one of the scrubby sponges to tackle an egg-encrusted pan.

"Yeah, I did," Cory says.  His hands settle on her upper arms, carefully, gently, as if he wants to hold her close but isn't sure he's welcome.  She shuts off the faucet and leans back against him.  "Honey.  You're avoiding my question."

It's easier to be honest when she can't see his expression.  "Yeah," she says, and his worry trembles through his exhalation, close to her ear.  "He didn't tell me anything I didn't already know," she says.  "Only... I wish you'd been honest with me."

"I really didn't think it mattered," Cory tells her.  He tugs, gently, so that they're facing each other, so that she can see he means it.  "But if you want, ask me anything.  Anything, and I promise I'll answer as honestly as I can."

"Okay," Topanga says, buying herself time, drying her hands, walking over to the window-seat, all too aware that they're echoing Shawn and the kids one floor up as they both sit on the cushions.  "Okay, so.  Um.  Do you like guys, too?"  May as well get that out of the way.

Cory grimaces.  "I don't know.  I never thought about it."

"Seriously?" she asks.  "Never? Not even when you were with Shawn?"

"I was never _with_ -with Shawn," Cory says, which shouldn't make sense but she thinks she gets it.  "I didn't think--"

"--it mattered," she finishes for him.

"Well, do you like girls?" he counters.

Topanga blinks.  "...no?" she ventures, getting what he's going for.  She never really had to think about it.

"Never looked at Angela and thought...?" he offers.

"Nope."  Mostly Topanga wanted to know what her skincare routine was.  She always seemed to glow a little.

"...damn," Cory says, exaggerating his disappointment.  She lightly smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand.  "Okay, I  _maybe_ like guys in the abstract, but it's not like I'm going to leave you to find out for sure.  I hope you know that, at least."

Topanga looks down at her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger so that the stone is centered, facing upright.  "...yeah," she says.  "Yeah, I do."  And it's true; she doesn't really care about his history with Shawn, whatever it is.  It's _Shawn_ , after all.  He's worked as hard as anybody else, Cory and Topanga included, to keep them together.  She can't imagine him doing anything to jeopardize their marriage.

What she's upset about is that Cory never told her.  They've shared so much of their lives that discovering something like this feels more momentous than it probably ought.  She sighs, trying to decide whether she wants to ask for more details.  "Are we okay?" Cory asks her.

"...probably," she answers.  "I just need to process, I think."

"That's fair," he says.  "Will you talk to me if..."

Footsteps on the stairs herald the reappearance of Shawn and the girls.  "Yes," Topanga answers Cory.  "I will."  

Cory looks relieved as he turns to their daughter.  "Good talk?"

Riley beams beatifically at them.  "Good talk," she confirms.  "Do you want to sponsor a PFLAG group at our school, dad?"

"...do we not have one?"  Cory asks.

"Apparently not," Shawn says.  "Not according to the school's website, anyway."

"We should probably fix that, then," Topanga says, and goes to grab her laptop.  They all cluster around her on the couch as she looks up what they need to get the ball rolling.

 

***

 

Google tells her that 'urbexing' is short for 'urban exploring,' and there's a lot that seems... barely-legal about it.  Moreover, finding hidden, abandoned areas of the city doesn't seem _safe_.  Most of the photos she finds are of dilapidated ruins, rubble and detritus and broken windows everywhere.

"Tell me you're just interviewing people and not actually going out there with them," she says, sitting with him at the dining room table while Cory's putting Auggie to bed and checking in on Riley.

"Welllll..." Shawn drawls.

"Shawn, you're going to break your neck!" she says.  "One wrong step and you're going to fall right through a rotten floor!"

There are crinkles at the sides of his eyes as he smirks at her.  "I'd make a joke right now about motherhood changing you, but you were always like this, so..."

"Always like what?" she asks.  "Not wanting to see one of my best friends die in some terrible accident?  Yep.  Always."

"I'm not going to _die_ ," he says.  "The people I'm going with promised me a few easy, _legal_ \--" he emphasizes the last word by leaning into her, "--and photogenic trips.  I'll be fine.  Worrywart."

"Hmm," she murmurs skeptically, scrolling through another page.  "Wait, is _that_ in New York?  I don't believe it."  The photos look like a movie set, or like catacombs in Europe, not anything that they might walk over every day without knowing about it.  She can't imagine that much space going unused.  It looks... quiet, and calm, and every empty doorway looks like it's just waiting for someone to walk through it.

Okay, she _might_ get the appeal.

"Believe it, babe," Shawn says.  "I'll let you look through all the pictures I take, help me pick out which to use in the article, how's that?"

"...you got a deal," she says.  "And call me immediately if anything happens, promise?"

"Promise," he replies easily, leaning into her again.  She relaxes against him, letting him prop her up, resting her head on his shoulder.  Her eyes drift shut.

"Hey," Shawn says, and her eyes snap open again.  Cory's at the bottom of the stairs, smiling fondly at both of them.

"Hey," Cory responds.  "My favorite people."

No jokes now, no _my favorite person... and my wife_.  He's not playing for an audience; it's just them.

Topanga pushes herself away from Shawn and lets her hand linger on his back, rubbing an absent circle before she moves away.  "Let's get you set up on the couch," she says.

"Good idea," he says, closing the laptop.

Topanga's got her arms full of guest linens when she remembers something Shawn said, earlier.   _I figured out real early that it's possible to be in love with more than one person..._

Her breath catches in her throat.   _No_ , she thinks, shaking her head.   _That would just be silly._  And long settled, too.

 

***

**[ ~17 years ago, give or take ]**

 

_"I can't believe Cory's being so silly about this," Topanga says as Shawn pulls out her chair for her, "and you don't need to play along, you know."_

_"Hey, he wants us to go on a date, you get the full Shawn Hunter experience," he says, settling in across the table.  "You look great, by the way."_

_"Thank you," she says, smiling.  "That stupid promotional video...  I think my ears are still ringing from that bullhorn."_

_"I can't believe he stole the tape," Shawn says.  "...no, wait, I can believe it."_

_Topanga laughs.  "I can't believe he watched it five hundred and twelve times!" she says, then pauses.  "...no, wait."_

_Shawn laughs with her.  "At least we get a nice dinner out of the deal, right?"_

_"We should get the most expensive stuff they have here," Topanga says.  "It'd serve him right."_

_"Filet mignon it is," Shawn says, tapping two fingers on the gold-embossed drinks menu.  "Too bad we can't have wine with dinner."_

_"Hm, probably for the best, all I know is red wine with red meat, white wine with white."_

_"I'm just impressed when it's not out of a box."_

_The waiter comes up and rattles off the specials while another server fills their water glasses.  "You'll be glad to know that your souffle will be ready at the end of your meal," he informs them._

_"...souffle?" Topanga echoes._

_"Yes, Mr. Matthews here was very clear in his requests for the evening."  The server sets the pitcher aside and replaces the small votive with a much fancier candlestick, lighting a fresh taper on the votive before affixing the former in the silver holder and whisking both votive and pitcher away.  "I will return when you are ready with your orders."_

_"...oh, dear," Topanga says, staring at Shawn in the candlelight.  "This is too much, even for Cory."_

_"What does he even expect us to do?"  Shawn says.  "As if either of us would betray him after a stupid staged kiss."_

_"It wasn't even a_ good _kiss," Topanga points out._

_"Hey!" Shawn protests.  "I was a little on the spot, there were all those people staring at us..."_

_"No," she says, reaching out to pat his hand where it rests on the table.  "Angela's told me enough to know that you can do much better when you want to.  It's just that neither of us_ wanted _to."_

_"...right," Shawn says, looking slightly mollified.  "Cory's just imagining things."_

_"We should get him back," Topanga says._

_Shawn lifts his eyebrows.  "You look like you have a plan."_

_Topanga smirks.  "I do."_

_"Darling," he says, in soap-operatic tones.  "Have I ever told you how much I love you when you're being devious?"_

_Topanga giggles and explains her idea._

_Later - after dinner, one scripted make-out session for Cory to eavesdrop on, and a timely intervention from Angela - things get resolved._

 

***

 

"How are things with Katy?" Topanga asks Shawn as they clean up the breakfast dishes in the wake of the kids and Cory leaving for school.

"...don't you have a fancy lawyer-job to be getting to?"  he asks, evasive.

"I'm a junior partner," she tells him, "I have about six thousand emails to go through, a bunch of case files to review, and a whole butt-load of phone calls to make, all of which they let me do from home sometimes because they're trying to impress clients with how progressive they are.  They aren't, really, but I take what I can get."  She pauses, glancing at her phone.  "No, wait, I also have a client lunch, and a meeting afterwards.  I'm going to try to talk a senator into giving us a cut of that big, juicy federal money for our consultation on some overseas trade contracts."

Shawn stares at her.  "...you're a little scary," he says.  "Who are you and what happened to the hippy-dippy Topanga I grew up with?"

"She discovered that it's possible to help people in developing nations by shaping the regulations on how corporations are allowed to outsource jobs," she informs him tartly.

"Okay, fair," he concedes.  "But you're still scary."

"Then that hasn't changed, has it," she says, laughing.

"Nope," he says, not sounding scared at all.

"So.  Katy.  Spill."

"We're... still taking it slow, I guess," he tells her.  "She says we can see other people, because she doesn't want to jump into anything serious.  She hasn't really dated since her ex left, so she wants to ease into it?  I don't know.  I think my being on the road all the time spooks her a little.  Too many opportunities for me to walk out the door and..."  he swoops his hand through the air.  "...never come back."

"Ha, I'm pretty sure that if you _never_ came back, Cory would hunt you down," Topanga says.  "And I'd probably help.  So would the kids."

"Yeah, well," Shawn says, "It's not my job to tell Katy her emotions are irrational.  And they aren't, really.  I am on the road a lot, sometimes in places that don't get cell reception.  What kind of relationship could we have when neither of us knows where I'll be next month, or a year from now?"

"...you could get a job where you're not traveling all the time," Topanga points out, a part of her already knowing it's futile.  As long as she's known him, Shawn's always been restless.  Whether he's looking for something he'll never find, or if staying in one place makes him feel vulnerable, she doesn't know.  She just knows he seems happy in all the photos he posts with his stories, talking to people from all over the globe, trying new things, seeing new vistas.  He seems glad to visit them in New York, but he doesn't seem unhappy at the prospect of needing to go somewhere else when he leaves.

"Maybe," he says.  "Writing's a rough gig, though.  Having a guaranteed job versus competing with every other prospective writer in New York..."

"All right, I get it," she says, letting him win this one for now, "but if you ever change your mind..."

He gives her a grateful smile.  "I'll know who to call," he answers quietly.

 

***

 

The PFLAG thing turns out to be a much bigger deal than anyone anticipated.  One of the parents in the PTA is blocking school support because she doesn't think her tax dollars (in the form of school resources) should go to something so... Well, she uses the phrase 'frivolous and unnecessary' but it's with a tone of poorly-veiled disgust, and it's all Topanga can do not to get up out of her chair and start threatening legal action at the top of her lungs.

The kids come through, though, with even Farkle pitching in, to her surprise.  "These are my friends," he says to the PTA board, "and I want them to be happy.  I want them to feel safe.  They can't do that if they don't feel like there are people they can talk to, or if there aren't parents and teachers who support them."

"And that's your job," Maya says, stepping forward, hand in hand with Riley.

"You're supposed to support us," Riley says.

"We - parents _and_ teachers - are supposed to help our kids grow up," Cory says, right behind them.  "Not just tell them what to do.  School isn't simply a building where they take tests, but a safe place for them to learn for themselves what's important.  To learn who they want to be.  We need to be there for them, however they identify."  Topanga laces her fingers with his and squeezes gently.  He squeezes back.  "Let us be there for them."

When the PTA votes in favor of the PFLAG group, the room erupts in cheering.  And glitter.

Riley is, of course, the one responsible for the glitter.  Topanga thought they'd banned it after that incident in the fifth grade, but no, there her daughter is, scattering it like a fairy princess.  It'll never come out of her clothes, but Topanga hugs Riley anyway.

When they get to the cafe, Shawn laughs like a hyena at the sparkles, but he's got no stones to throw given that he's managed to carpet the whole place in balloons in all the colors of the rainbow.

Katy brings out an equally-colorful cake, beaming like the sun.  "Congratulations."

"Oh my god, it's like a unicorn barfed in here," Maya says, looking around.

"I know, isn't it _great?_ "  Riley says, bouncing on her toes.

"You are so lucky I love you," Maya says, and Riley stops mid-bounce, pivoting on the balls of her feet to stare at her girlfriend.  "...what?"

"Do you mean it?"  Riley asks, in a small, tremulous voice.

"Yeah, I've said it like a thousand times, dork," Maya says, but there's a bright tinge of color blooming high on her cheeks.

"You haven't said it since we started going out, though," Riley says.

"Well, I do," Maya says.  "Can you maybe stop looking at me like that, everyone else is staring at us."

Riley glances around and then tows Maya out the door.  Topanga is tempted to rush to the window and watch, but the girls deserve their privacy.  

So she shoos everybody _else_ away from the window, raising her voice to say, "Come on, who wants cake?"

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback scene is a missing scene from Boy Meets World, s6 ep6, "Hogs & Kisses." In that ep, Topanga and Shawn are directed to kiss while being filmed for a promotional video for their college, and Cory believes he sees chemistry between them. He insists that they go on a date to see if there are any hidden romantic feelings between them; when they get back, they go into Shawn & Cory's room and, knowing that Cory is listening in at the door, stage an over-the-top scripted scene that he, in his jealousy, believes is real. Angela eventually talks him down, because Angela is awesome and sensible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings. Here's where the fic starts to earn its rating.

"Oh my god, it's like craft herpes," Cory says, staring at the towel he's pulled off his hair, finding glitter glinting against the terrycloth.  "It's been three days, when does it _end?_ "

"I've been picking up my dry cleaning on the way to the office and changing there," Topanga says, commiserating.  "But after one of the other junior partners made a comment about me _embellishing my files_ , I found some glitter in my briefcase."  She scowls at herself in the mirror, looking for tell-tale flecks on her face.  "It's like breaking a mirror.  We're doomed for the next seven years."

When they go downstairs for breakfast, they find Shawn using an air canister on one of his cameras.  He looks up.  "I love you guys, but I need to leave, maybe get a hotel room."

"Glitter?" Topanga asks, getting out the orange juice.

"It's _everywhere_ ," Shawn confirms piteously.

Cory goes over to him, gesturing at the air canister.  "Does that work? Can you use it on my hair?  I feel like an extremely flamboyant Pig Pen."

"Ooh, _Peanuts_ reference, nice," Shawn says.  "That doesn't date you at all."

"Shut up and blow me," Cory says.

There's a pause, and then Topanga breaks the silence by laughing so hard she almost spills the orange juice.  She sets it down on the table and collapses into a chair, hearing Shawn chuckling along with her and Cory's spluttering.

"Whats so funny?" Auggie asks, coming down the stairs, rubbing his bleary eyes.

"Nothing," Cory says.

"It's a stupid grown-up joke, kiddo," Topanga says.  "Do you want cereal or oatmeal?" 

 

***

 

Topanga's current problem is that it's in her brain now.  It doesn't bug her so much as it percolates in the back of her mind, occasionally spilling over at inopportune moments.  She'll be pouring herself a cup of coffee when she wonders if she was really Cory's first kiss (she's 99.999% sure that he wouldn't lie about that, but her brain presents the question anyway).  She'll be looking through annotated discovery files with a highlighter when she suddenly wonders if 'not while you and I were dating' means that something happened during one of the times they'd broken up.  She'll be letting her mind drift on the commute home when she wonders if Angela knew.

And, increasingly often, she finds herself faced with the one question she hasn't gotten the nerve to ask yet: what did they do together? 

Topanga tries not to think about it, she does.  She gives herself full marks for effort.

The problem is that it's too easy to imagine.  She's seen them curled together like kittens in the same bed for years without thinking anything of it - hell, they _still_ fall asleep on one another on the couch when the kids have tired them out or they've been up all night talking.  It's not much of a stretch to envision that easy familiarity turning into intimacy.

She cuts herself shaving when she realizes that when she's picturing them like this, it's the _current_ them, Shawn's bearded chin tucked against her husband's stocky shoulder.  Topanga has to blot her shin with toilet paper until the blood clots while Riley hammers on the door shouting something about a hair emergency.

If Riley ends up with an especially elaborate braid that day, it's mostly because Topanga needs something to focus on lest her thoughts wander again.

 

***

 

Shawn comes home in cargo pants stained to the knees, scrapes on his palms, and a broken camera.  "Ahh, it's fine, my boss will replace it.  Not the first time she's had to.  I brought a backup and my memory cards are intact, so it's all good."

Auggie is halfway across the room to greet Shawn when he stops and backpedals so fast he almost falls on his butt.  "Ewwww, you stink!"

"Do I?"  Shawn asks, and by then, Topanga's close enough to confirm it.  She can't place the stench, but boy howdy, it's definitely there.

"Shower," she says, gathering all her mom-ly authority as she points up the stairs.  "Shower _now_."

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn says, handing her his camera bag as he goes.  It seems to have suffered far less than his clothing, but it still carries a whiff of rot.  She uses half a bottle of Febreze on it.

Grabbing a garbage bag, she knocks on the bathroom door.  "Yeah?" Shawn calls over the sound of running water.

"It's me; I'm going to take your clothes and burn them," she says.

"Sure," he replies, clearly not believing her.  "Come on in, nothing you haven't seen before."  She can feel her cheeks heat up and she keeps her eyes carefully averted, though she can tell the curtain is well shut.

The hems of his pants are practically stiff from the dirt and muck caked on them.  She considers taking them up to the roof, where there's a rusted, dented grill in one corner that doesn't seem to belong to anybody, and actually following through on her threat.  Instead, she double-bags them and ties the handles extra tight, trying to breathe through her mouth more than her nose.

"Hey, wanna bring me something to replace those?  Don't want to scandalize the girls."

"No problem," she says brightly through her teeth.

Shawn seems to live out of three bags: one for his laptop and camera; one for his shaving kit, first aid supplies, and incidentals, everything in bottles perfectly sized to go through even the most stringent airport standards; and one for his clothes and shoes, most of those items in ziploc bags with all the air squeezed out.  A portable life.

Topanga stares down at neatly-rolled socks tucked into two of his three pairs of shoes, a handful of t-shirts, a zip-up hooded sweatshirt, a few sets of thermal long johns, two pairs of jeans, a durable sport coat, and all the rest.  She has to clasp her hands together so she doesn't open every bag, toss his clothing out on the couch, upend everything.  It's a stupid, pointless impulse.  She doesn't understand why she wants to do it.

"Whatcha doing?" Auggie asks.

"Trying to pick out something for Uncle Shawn to wear," she says, tousling her son's hair.  "Wanna help?"

Auggie nods.

***

 

"What on earth?" Cory says, stopping in the doorway, his hand still on the latch.

"Auggie picked out my clothes," Shawn says, "so now I'm a superhero."  He's in a set of navy blue longjohns, hoodie tied around his shoulders like a cape.

"You're the sidekick!" Auggie protests, " _I'm_ the superhero!"  He has a cardboard batman mask with the ears cut off and a blanket as his cape.

"Oh, right," Shawn says, then picks Auggie up and swoops him around the room.

Topanga waves at her husband from the window-seat.  "I'm just glad they didn't rope me into this one."

"Come on, Dad, we need a bad guy," Auggie says.

"Bad guy, huh? Thanks very much," Cory says sarcastically, but he's grinning.  "I'll see what I have in my closet."

Riley and Maya follow him in.  "I don't want to know," Maya says at the tableau, then wrinkles her nose.  "Why does it smell like dead wet dog in here?"

"Long story," Topanga tells her, getting up to open a window and fetch the Febreze again.

"Superheroes?" Riley asks, and both Auggie and Shawn strike a pose.  "Let me find my cape."

"...of course you have a cape," Maya says.

"You don't?" Topanga asks.  "I thought they were all the rage nowadays."

"Don't worry, Maya, I have an extra," Riley says.

"Of _course_ you have more than one cape," Maya says, throwing up her hands.

"One's for _fancy_  occasions," Riley informs her.  "I'll let you have that one.  Wanna know why?"

"Because you love me?"

"Because I love you."

Topanga looks over and sees that Cory looks the way she feels: like his heart's about to brim over with affection.

 

***

 

Topanga wakes up alone in the middle of the night.  She waits for a little while, then gets up to peek in on Auggie, suspecting that his 'monster under the bed' dreams have come back, but he's out like a light.  She checks on Riley and finds her mumbling in her sleep - something about ducks and pop-tarts?  Topanga will ask her about it in the morning.

There's only one other place Cory can be.  Topanga keeps her movements as light as she can on the stairs, careful to put her foot all the way to the right on the step that will creak otherwise, and stops just out of sight, hearing Shawn and Cory's quiet voices from the living room.

"...I realized that you and I never talked about it, either," Cory says, "which was probably stupid and unfair of me, in retrospect."

"Nah," Shawn says, too casually dismissive.  "Like you said, we were kids, we didn't know any better.  It's no big deal.  We did a lot of stupid shit, back in the day."

Cory huffs a small laugh.  "We did," he says.  "Man, things have changed a lot since then, haven't they?  If I'd known then what I know now..."

"What?" Shawn asks.

The sound Cory makes now is more bleak than a laugh.  "...I'd probably have been more confused," he admits.  "Which is saying something."

"C'mon, man, you were never confused about Topanga.  Confused _by_ her, maybe, but never  _about_ her."  They're quiet for a moment.  "Please don't tell me you regret how things turned out."

Cory's response is immediate.  "God, no.  What I regret is the thought that I might've hurt _you_."

"I'm fine," Shawn says, so softly that Topanga almost misses it.  "I mean it."

Topanga considers going the rest of the way down, but turns around and goes back to bed.  Cory comes in after a little while, and she doesn't bother pretending she was asleep.  She reaches out for his hand in the dark and he takes it, holding tight.  "Everything okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," Cory says.  "Yeah, I think so."

 

***

 

Topanga wakes up late, half panics when she sees the time, and then calms down when she remembers it's Saturday.  Still, it's strange to not wake up to the sound of at least _one_ of the kids.  She tucks her robe around her and goes downstairs.

"Hey!" Cory says, all alone in the living room.

Now deeply perturbed, Topanga says, "It's ten thirty and the house is quiet.  How is the house quiet?"

"Auggie is at your parents', Riley and Maya are hanging out somewhere but promised they'd check in every so often and respond to every text we send, and I think Shawn is... touring a factory?  I'm not sure, I hadn't had coffee yet when he told me."

"Okay," she says.  Caffeine is probably a good idea.  She refills the coffee maker and waits at the counter for it to brew.

Cory's arms come around her waist from behind.  "Whatever _shall_ we do with our time alone, Mrs. Matthews?" he asks in a teasing voice that sets her pulse thrumming.

Maybe she doesn't need that coffee after all.

 

***

 

This isn't the heady, early days of their marriage, when they were still exploring intimacy and shyly learning how to communicate what they enjoyed.  Topanga remembers that time with fondness, but doesn't really miss it.  Now, they're as familiar with each others' bodies as they are with their own, though the infrequent opportunities they get to make love sometimes feel furtive and rushed.

Cory prefers to take his time.   _Topanga_ prefers it when he can take his time; it can still be fun if he can't, but given the choice, there's no contest.

He maps the curves of her body with gentle touches as he kisses the back of her neck, unbelts her robe, sliding a palm along the bare line of her waist where her camisole's ridden up.  "I missed this," he murmurs.  "Having you in my arms like this."

Topanga twists in his embrace to kiss him, misaligned and messy until she can face him properly, going up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck so she can pull him down to her.  She wears heels so regularly that sometimes she forgets how much taller he is.

Cory's so careful, so reverent, that by the time his hand finally creeps up high enough to cradle her breast, his thumb sweeping across her nipple with teasing pressure, her patience is starting to fray.  She moans into his mouth and can feel his smile as he pulls away.  "I want to go down on you until you can't remember words," he tells her, and she nods, too far gone to tell him that she's already halfway there on anticipation alone.

To her surprise, he doesn't lead her upstairs; instead, he pulls out one of the dining room chairs for her to sit on, dragging her underwear and pajama bottoms down as he kneels between her legs.  "Oh my god," she says.  "Oh my _god._   _Cory_."

She combs her fingers through his curly hair and hangs on as he gets to work.

He gets her off twice like that, continuing to stroke her with his fingers as he kneels up, grinning.  She smiles back, wiping his face with the cuff of her robe before she lets him kiss her.  "How ya doin'?" he asks.

Topanga's about to answer when his eyes shift to the side and he frowns.  She turns, instinctively pulling her bathrobe across her half-bared chest, and spots what Cory had seen.  Shawn, frozen just inside the door, which is still partially ajar.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'll--" Shawn stammers, then bolts out the door.  Topanga turns back to Cory, heart in her throat.  He's staring back at her with a rueful grimace.

"Damn," he says.  "I guess that ruins the mood."

She fists her hand in his t-shirt and lifts her chin.  "Hell no," she says, giving him a swift, defiant kiss before she stands up.  She'll be damned if this is going to ruin their morning.  "But we should move this upstairs."

"...okay," Cory says, grabbing the clothes she leaves behind before following her to the bedroom.

Topanga focuses on making love to her husband, and doesn't - _doesn't!_ \- think about how the weight in her chest feels more like disappointment than embarrassment.  Doesn't think about how Shawn's face had looked stricken, not surprised.  She doesn't.

She does think about it later, though.

 

***

 

Cory's heartbeat has settled back into its steady rhythm; Topanga is listening to it, her head on his chest while they lie tangled with each other and with their sheets.  "That was nice," he says drowsily.

"Mm," she murmurs, head swimming with thoughts she shouldn't entertain.

"Aside from that awkward interruption, of course," he adds.  "We should probably send him a text, apologize.  Let him know it's all clear."

"Yeah," she says, not really listening.

"Hey, you falling asleep on me?"  Cory nudges her arm.

"No," she answers.  "Just thinking."

He rubs circles into the skin on her back.  "Yeah? About what?"

"Souffle," she says, and his light bark of laughter jolts his ribcage.  She lifts her head and pillows her chin on the back of her hand, palm over his heart.  "I--" she starts, voice faltering.  She swallows.  "I didn't want him to leave."

Cory's brows draw together and his lips purse as he's torn between responding and puzzling through it himself.  "...I don't understand."

"Shawn," she clarifies.  "I wanted Shawn to stay."

"I..."  Cory sits up, fully alert now.  Topanga follows suit, reaching down to snag the comforter so she can pull it up over them both.  "What are you saying, that you wanted him to stay _while_ we...?"

Topanga bends her knees, wrapping her arms around them.  Cory's feet are sticking out from the end of the comforter; at some point, he lost a sock.  "I wanted him with us," she says slowly, picking her words like a path through a minefield.

Cory gives a low whistle.  "That's... that's new," he says.  "Wait - that _is_ new, right?"

" _Yes_ ," she says with emphasis over her shoulder, catching his expression out of the corner of her eye.  He doesn't seem upset, merely confused.  "...he was always too _pretty_ ," she muses aloud.

Cory doesn't take umbrage.  "And boy, did he know it," he says, shaking his head.  "I'm glad I had you, you helped me feel like I wasn't Quasimodo by comparison."  She smiles.  "Seriously, though.  Are you being honest and telling me how you feel, or are you... making a suggestion?"

"I don't know," Topanga says, meaning it.  It's nice - exciting, even - to think about, but reality is always more complicated.  "What are _you_ thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I'm not exactly sure how long he'd been standing there," Cory says, lifting his hands from his lap, palms up, letting them drop again.  "And... I don't think it bothers me as much as it probably should."

"Okay."  Topanga nods absently.  "Okay.  So, um.  Is this something we need to talk through now, or can we both think about it and come back to it later?"

" _Later_ ," Cory says, relief gusting through his voice.  He tugs at her elbow with one hand, getting her to look at him.  "Are we okay?" he asks.

"Yes," Topanga says, and kisses him, infusing the gesture with all of the certainty she has in her love for him, hoping he can feel it.  From the way he's smiling at her when she pulls back, she thinks he did.

Cory dresses and goes downstairs to make sure their battered old coffee maker didn't catch on fire.

Topanga gets her phone and texts Shawn.   _All clear.  You can come home._

Then she puts on some pants.

 

***

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Shawn doesn't come back when she texts him. Maya and Riley beat him home in the late afternoon, the former with an expression like a thundercloud and the latter looking fretful. "Can I stay here tonight?" Maya asks, vehement enough that Topanga doesn't feel comfortable saying no.  Cory shrugs his assent.  

Topanga answers for them both.  "...sure, sweetie.  Is something wrong?"

"No more than usual," Maya mutters, and disappears up the stairs in a flurry of stomping steps.

Riley lags behind in the kitchen.  "Her mom broke up with Shawn," she says.  "He came over, said he was leaving soon and wasn't sure when he'd be back.  We didn't hear the rest, but she kicked him out not long after."

Topanga's already got her phone out.   _Are you okay? What happened?_ she texts Katy.  She feels vaguely guilty, even though she knows that she hasn't _done_ anything.  From the look Cory shoots her after Riley follows Maya upstairs, he's in a similar state.

She texts Shawn, too.   _Where are you?  Is everything okay?_

She gets no response from Shawn.  He'd promised that he'd call if anything happened, but that was about his story, not his dating life.  Topanga considers calling him, but Katy calls her first.

"Hey, Katy," she answers, "Maya's here, we heard the news.  Wanna talk about it?"

"...it wasn't anything huge," Katy says, sighing.  "I realized I've spent so long in a standstill, waiting for a man to come back so that my life could resume..."  She gives a short, humorless laugh.  "I got used to it.  It felt normal.  It felt _safe_.  But it's not healthy, and I don't want Maya to grow up thinking that repeating old patterns is any way to live life, you know?"  She sniffles, and Topanga wishes she could be there for her friend in person.

"Hey, you wanna go raid the cafe's freezer for the Girl Scout cookies I hide in there?" Topanga offers.  "You can cry on my shoulder and I can tell you terrible stories about Shawn so you feel like you dodged a bullet."

"That would require leaving the house, and I think I'd rather not face the outside world for a few hours.  But thanks.  Will you take care of Maya tonight?"

"Of course," Topanga assures her.  "Anytime."

"Thanks, Topanga.  I really appreciate it."

"Anytime," Topanga says again, and Katy hangs up.  "So now I want to strangle him," she tells Cory.

"What did he do?"  Cory asks.

"Honestly, nothing.  He's just... _Shawn_ ," she says.  "And it's my contractual duty as Katy's friend to feel protective of her when she's hurting."

Cory comes over and hugs her.  "Why don't we order in tonight, there's that new Thai place you've been wanting to try.  We'll let the girls pick a movie and veg out for a night."

"...yeah, okay," Topanga says, giving him a quick peck on the lips.  "Thank you."

"For what?" he says, smiling down at her.

"Always being there," she says.

"Always," he echoes, hugging her tight again.

 

***

 

They rent _Jupiter Ascending_ for the umpteenth time, eat their meals right out of the plastic trays they get delivered in, and Cory and Topanga split a beer.  Maya cracks jokes about _SPACE BEES_ with increasingly ridiculous gestures, and Riley gets out her sketchbook to draft plans for a Halloween outfit based on Jupiter's wedding dress.

"Okay," Topanga says, "what about you, Maya?"

"I'll be that Caine dude.  I'll get a werewolf makeup kit at the drugstore and spend all my allowance on a really great pair of boots that I'll stick glowsticks onto.  Leather vest and moto leggings I already got."

"Aw, matching Halloween costumes," Cory says.  "Sounds serious."

Maya throws a balled-up napkin at him.

"Although come to think of it," Topanga says.  "This is the first time you've stayed over since you two started dating, isn't it?  We should go over the ground rules."

"Oh _no_ ," Riley says with a wince.

"...aaand that's my cue," Cory says, getting up and clearing away the last of the food.  "Have a good night, ladies, see you in the morning."  He drops kisses on the tops of their heads as he goes, all in a row: Riley, Maya, Topanga.

Topanga's going to give him shit later for punking out on her, but it's fine, she can do this.  They already did the Big Talk; this is just amendments.

 

***

 

Too restless to go to bed, Topanga queues up a random procedural on Netflix, hoping that picking apart the bad faux-legal jargon and repeated violations of due process will distract her.  It must work, because she finds herself waking up in the gray light of early dawn at the sound of a key in the lock.

"Hey," she says blearily to Shawn.  He pauses, then shakes his head.

"Don't tell me you were waiting up for me," he says, closing the door softly behind him.  "I'm not one of your kids, Topanga."

"I wasn't waiting for you," she tells him, "and I know you're not a kid, though I wouldn't call skulking in at-" she checks the time "-five-thirty in the morning very _mature_ , either."

"I lost track of time," he tells her, and she believes it.

"Maya said you told Katy you were leaving soon," she says instead.  "I thought you were here for another week."

"Something came up," he says, lifting one shoulder and ducking his head.  "Besides, you know me, don't like to wear out my welcome."

"You could never," she says.  "Not with us."

He squints at her, like he can't read her expression in the shadows.  "You and Cory have a whole life here," he says.  "It's a good life.  Thanks for letting me visit."

Topanga had never noticed that he'd always kept his bags so close to the door; it means that it's too easy for him to snag the straps and hoist them onto his shoulder.  She doesn't know what to say.  Her mind is still sluggish with sleep.  She's used to him coming and going sporadically, but he never leaves like this.  Does he think they're mad at him, for their sake or for Katy's?  For Maya's?

"Shawn," Cory calls gently.  Topanga nearly jumps out of her skin.  "The number of times people have walked out on you, you think it's all right to disappear on us like this?"

Shawn lifts his chin.  "You can't see the difference?  I don't walk out on anyone who's counting on me."

"Maya?"  Topanga asks.

"Maya doesn't need me," Shawn says.  "She's got a mom - a _great_ mom.  She's got you guys.  She'll be fine."  She could mention Riley and Auggie, but he'll probably give a similar answer.

"Why are you leaving, Shawn?"  Cory asks.  "And don't tell me it's what happened with Katy.  You'd decided to go before you went to see her."

Shawn looks away, out the window.  "Maybe..." he starts.  "Maybe I got tired of crawling through abandoned places better left forgotten."

There's a reason Shawn makes such a good writer: he knows a good closing line when he has one.  He's gone before either of them can formulate an answer.

 

***

 

The fallout is predictably awful.  Maya shuts down like a vault, and Riley hides her own hurt in increasingly outlandish schemes to cheer her girlfriend up.  It starts with her favorite foods and a shopping spree at Dick Blick.  Next, it's a full musical number in the cafeteria at school.  Topanga has to talk Riley out of skipping school for a day trip to the Met.

"We'll all go this weekend, sweetie," Topanga tells her.

"Have you heard from Uncle Shawn?" Riley asks.  Topanga shakes her head.  "Well if you do, tell him I'm not talking to him."

They spend a whole day at the art museum, trailing after Auggie as he peers into displays and taking photos as he strikes poses next to statues. The girls head off on their own, texting occasionally with their own updates and commentary.  Riley sends a picture that Topanga plans to download to the digital frame on her desk at the firm: it's a shot of Maya, sitting cross-legged on a bench as she sketches, but in the background, there's a reflection off one of the glass cases of Riley taking the photo.

They're so worn out by the time they leave that they're all quiet and drowsy on the subway, Riley and Maya in a slouched tangle on the seats and Cory leaning heavily on the post.  The kids bring home quite a haul from the gift shop - Topanga doesn't mind splurging a little on stuff like this, and watching Auggie happily clutch the box for his new marker-colorable 'Captain Awesome' cape makes her smile.  Maya carries a poster, an assorted set of postcards in its own box, and a long list of artists she wants to google; Riley comes back with a neon duct tape purse kit and a fat glossy book on the history of fashion.  Topanga gets herself a set of magnets decorated with Tiffany glass designs that she'll split between the fridge at home and the magnet board at the cafe.  Cory buys a blue hippo stapler, ostensibly so people at school will stop stealing his, but everybody knows better.  He keeps making it talk.

 _Urbexing in New York: the Hidden Beauty of Urban Decay_ is posted later that week.  Topanga sees the notification on her phone and deletes it without clicking through to read the article.  She sees Cory looking at it later that night, though.  The photos are incredible.  Cory catches her peeking at it over his shoulder and closes his laptop.  "It's good," he grudgingly admits.

"Small consolation," she replies.  "Your turn to fold the laundry."

Cory is quieter nowadays, too; she catches him lost in thought, staring at the same test papers for longer than they should take to grade.  She's not the only one who notices.  Auggie acts out more, determinedly silly and endearingly attention-seeking, and sometimes Riley frowns thoughtfully at him in the quiet moments before bed, looking like she's about to say something.  She never does.

 _We miss you,_  Topanga texts Shawn.   _You jackass._  He doesn't answer.

A couple of weeks later, the weight is slowly lifting.  There's another notification on her phone, this one _Beneath the London Underground_.  She looks at the headline, swipes it away but doesn't delete it.

Topanga throws herself into her work, her ~~two~~ ~~three~~ four jobs.  She gets a commendation at her firm; Katy thinks she's trying to make things easier on her.  "I'm doing _fine_ , Topanga," Katy says with a smile.  "It wasn't that serious.  It's been harder on Maya, but Riley's been so great.  A little intense, but great.  Look, I'm even going on a date this Friday.  Which reminds me, can I have Friday night off?"

Her other two jobs - wife and mother - almost seem easy until she realizes that Cory's started to put in overtime on his end, too.  She goes to do the dishes and he and the kids have already done them.  He cooks even on the mornings when it's supposed to be her turn, and manages to whisk Auggie from bath to bed in record time after dinner.

 _Where are you now?_ she texts Shawn.

And: _We hope you're okay._

He doesn't answer.

 

***

 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cory asks her one night while they're reading in bed.

Topanga looks up from the long-neglected fall issue of the NYU JLB.  "About what?" she asks.

"Shawn," he says.

She marks her place in the journal and turns off her tablet.  "What about him?"

"I--"  Cory gives her half a grin.  "Mostly, I want to kick his ass.  Beyond that, though... I'd settle for him coming back, but I want him with us, however he'll have us."

The knot of tension in Topanga's chest starts to unravel, cut clean through with razor-sharp clarity.  She nods, and reaches for her phone, showing him the message before she sends it.

_We love you.  Come home._

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the souvenirs from the Met mentioned in the fic are actually things that are currently available at the gift shop (or: at least online). Including the blue hippo stapler: his name is William. I think Maya's poster might be a Hopper or a Klee or perhaps [Adolf Dehn's "Spring in Central Park."](http://cache.trustedpartner.com/images/library/NaplesIllustrated2010/News%20%26%20Blogs/Going%20Out%20Guide/Arts%20and%20Culture/Central-Park--wc-21x29-1942.jpg) Also, Kate: I'm half tempted to buy DM [the coloring cape](http://store.metmuseum.org/creativity+play/superhero-color-a-cape-kit/invt/80024706), lol.
> 
> (I love doing research for fics.)
> 
> Also: I'm sorry. I seem to be incapable of writing unadulterated fluff in addition to my longstanding inability to write proper crackfic. But I don't think I've ever written anything with an actual unhappy ending, either, fwiw.


	5. Chapter 5

Katy and Topanga are going over applications and background checks for a new part-time baker at the cafe when there's a familiar clamor outside.  They both stand up as a small crowd of teenagers comes through the doors, Cory dragged along by the current.  "Is it always like this when school lets out?" Topanga asks.

"...only on school days!" Katy replies, her smile wide as she heads to the counter.  Topanga ducks in the back to let Anna know her break's going to have to get cut short.  She knows better than to try helping with the customers herself.  They've all learned _that_ lesson.

She returns to find that Cory's taken refuge behind the counter, Riley practically vibrating with suppressed excitement next to him.  "What's going on?" Topanga asks.

"SPACE CAMP!" Riley squeals.

Cory winces and covers the ear closest to their daughter.  "Farkle told his dad about the whole 'girls in STEM' thing and Minkus bought a space camp," he explains.

"He renovated it and added more stuff to make it girl-friendly or whatever, and invited the whole class to give it a trial run during spring break," Maya adds, looking less than thrilled.  "Mom, say I don't have to go."

"You _have_ to go," Riley insists.

"But it's all nerd stuff and I don't _wanna!_ " Maya whines.

"There's a flight simulator and a giant pool and one of those spinny chairs!" Yogi exclaims from his place in line.

There's a pause.  "I'm in," Maya says.  "Only because I want to see if Farkle's gonna barf on the chair."

Katy leans over to Topanga.  "You know what this means?" she asks.  "A whole week without the kids."

"You can go," Cory says, hearing this.  "Where's the permission slip, I'll sign it right now."

 

***

 

The problem is that spring break is _next week_ , and Cory and Topanga had prepared a very carefully-balanced schedule that's now completely shot.  That day's homework lull evaporates in a flurry of cancellations and rearrangements.  "No, mom, really, I promise, this space camp thing just came up," Cory says into the phone.  "No, we _want_ the kids to have time with you - we'll give you extra time during the summer, how's that?  Yes, and you'll still get Auggie this weekend, that hasn't changed."

Topanga gives him a thumbs-up while she checks the online policies for the photography workshop they'd arranged for Riley.   _Drat_ , they'll lose half their deposit this late.

The doorbell rings and Cory pushes the unlocking buzzer absently, still talking to his mom, "I _know_ you wanted to take her shopping, Mom, I'm sorry..."

Topanga hits 'send' on the email to the photography instructor and looks up as the door opens.  Cory's facing away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listens to his mother, so he doesn't see Shawn walk in.

"Hey," Shawn says.  

Cory's head snaps up.  "I gotta go, Mom, I love you, goodbye," he says all in a rush, and hangs up.

"Hey," Topanga says, closing her laptop and setting it aside.

Nobody moves for a minute, nobody speaks.

Shawn's voice is wary when he says, "You _seriously_ need to stop vaguetexting me at midnight."

"What was so vague about 'we love you, come home'?" Topanga asks.

Shawn shakes his head.  "Y'know, when I got your message, I realized... I can count on one hand the number of people who've ever said that to me, and you two are the only ones on that list who scare me when you say it."  He pauses, adding, "I just don't know if I'm more scared that you _don't_ mean it... or that you do."

Without thinking about it, Topanga's on her feet, crossing the room; she snags Cory's hand on the way, or he catches hers.  Either way, their fingers are entwined when they reach Shawn.

"Shawnie-" Cory starts.

"-we mean it," Topanga finishes for them both.

"I don't--" Shawn says.  Topanga wants to kiss him but knows she shouldn't, that it's too soon.  So of course, Cory does so instead.  She watches Shawn sway into it for a moment before jerking back abruptly, looking at her in bafflement.  "This isn't some scheme to keep me around, is it?"

"Scheme?  Why on earth would you think... yeah, no, I can't finish that sentence with a straight face," Cory says, grinning.  "But this isn't a scheme, no."

"We don't need you to stay," Topanga assures him.  "You don't need to quit your job and change your life.  What we want is for you to not be a visitor when you come here.  You're family... however you want to define that."  She's giving him an out, but she tilts her chin up, in challenge and in invitation.

Shawn takes the latter, bending down to brush his lips against hers, cautious and gentle.  She grips his arm and leans up into it, enjoying the novelty of it, though it's also far more natural than she expects.  They've kissed before, gestures of platonic affection grazing against foreheads or cheeks or the corners of mouths, only once in feigned passion, and that for the sake of a film, surrounded by strangers, too artificial and surreal.  Here, intent and awareness changes everything, and she savors it even as she relaxes into the familiarity of him.

Cory's hand squeezes hers, and Topanga pulls away.  "Gonna have to get used to the facial hair, huh," she says.

Shawn smiles down at her.  "Yeah, no, I'm not shaving, sorry."

"So what's the verdict?" Cory asks.  "Wanna stick around a while?"

"Yeah," Shawn tells him, "for a little while."  He may be smiling, but Topanga can see shadows lurking in his eyes, and she resolves to do her damnedest - somehow, eventually - to convince him that they mean it, that this can be home for him.  That _they_ can be home for him.

"C'mon," she tells them, noticing that they're all by the door, Shawn's bags on the floor at their feet.  "This is a 'comfy seating and hot tea' situation, don't you think?"

"Yes!" Cory agrees, pressing a kiss to her forehead with equal enthusiasm.  "You," he says, pointing to Shawn, "sit.  Make yourself comfortable. You," he says, pointing to Topanga, "don't let him leave.  I'll get the tea."

Topanga wrinkles her nose at her husband but loops her arm around Shawn's elbow and walks him over to the living room.  When he settles on the couch, she takes the space between him and the arm, swinging her legs over his lap.  "I'm following orders," she says with a smirk.  His hand lands lightly on her ankle, thumb resting in the inner hollow.  "So, what's your next story?" she asks.

"I... actually don't know yet," Shawn tells her.  "I wasn't sure what to tell my boss, how long I'd be staying..."  He rubs small circles into the delicate skin of her leg absently, and she shivers.  "I've got a couple of half-finished pieces in my backlog I can polish up and send his way while I'm here."

Topanga nods, hearing the clink of mugs as Cory pulls them from the drying rack.  "I feel like.. we should talk about this?" she ventures after a moment.  "But I don't...  There's no script for this, is there."

"Not that I know of," Shawn says, laughing.  "The important thing is that I don't screw anything up for you guys.  You have kids, and Cory's a _teacher_ , are you sure-?"

"We won't know unless we try," Topanga says, as Cory comes over with the still-steeping tea.  She takes the mug he hands her, letting it warm her palms.

"And the kids _love_ you," Cory adds, then waves one hand dismissively as he takes the empty spot on the other side of the couch.  "I mean, they're still mad about the thing, what with you leaving last time without saying goodbye, but you know, it'll be okay.  You've become such a big part of their lives.  You're not some _stranger_ we're-"  he stops abruptly, hot water sloshing over the back of his hand.  "I don't know how to end that sentence that doesn't make this sound weird."

"Well, this _is_ weird," Shawn says, shaking his head, "but to be honest, I never really expected I'd get to have a normal life anyway."

"Me either," Topanga says, giving in to the impulse to touch Shawn, reassuring him as much as herself.  She curls her hand over his shoulder, sliding her fingers under his collar to stroke the side of his neck.  "I don't know if I can still pull off a toga, but you two might be an okay substitute for a subterranean man-harem."

Cory gapes.  "Might?"  He looks at Shawn.  "I think we've been insulted."

"We'll just have to prove her wrong," Shawn says, sounding resigned.  Topanga hides her smile against the rim of her mug as she sips her red rooibos.

"I _suppose_ ," Cory sighs.  He settles in, scrunching down into the cushions until Shawn takes the hint and slings an arm over his shoulders.  "Do we want to say something to the kids?"

"We should at some point, but what and when..."  Topanga muses, trailing off when she sees the faint panic in Shawn's expression.

"...don't bother, we're good," a familiar voice interjects, and all three adults sit up straight and swivel in their seats to see Riley and Maya staring at them from the stairwell.  Riley's gaping; Maya's eyebrows are almost at her hairline.  Topanga tries to pull her legs back from where they're draped over Shawn's knees with some subtlety but her face is burning.

Before any of the adults can respond, Maya turns to Riley.  "You owe me ten bucks," she says.

"Ugh, _fine_ ," Riley says grudgingly.  "Dad, can I have ten dollars?"

"...you're not upset?" Cory asks.

"I'm still not talking to Uncle Shawn for bailing on us like a total jerk, if that's what you mean," Riley says.

"What if _I_ gave you ten dollars?" Shawn offers, standing.

Topanga can tell he's (mostly) kidding, but Riley beams at him.  "Welcome back, Uncle Shawn!"

Maya thumps her on the arm with the back of her hand.  "Seriously? Have I taught you _nothing_ about haggling?"  She scowls at Shawn.  "Don't think you can buy _me_ off that cheap, old man."

"How about a sincere apology?" Shawn asks, voice solemn.  Topanga holds her breath.  If Maya's going to have a problem with having him around, they'll have to address it first, before anything else.  This is going to be complicated enough, but the kids come first.

Maya eyes him dubiously.  "That and fifty bucks, maybe," she allows.

"Twenty," Shawn says, and Topanga can hear the smirk creep into his voice, like they're negotiating in their own language, beyond the surface details of money.  Asking each other, _what are you willing to give up_ , maybe, _what are you willing to take?_   _Am I problem you want to solve, or are you willing to work for it, to treat me like a person?_  "And a promise not to do it again.  Final offer."

"...deal," Maya says grudgingly.  "Topanga's here, so that's legally binding, you know."

"Verbal contract," Topanga agrees, even though it's not, really.  "I know plenty of bail bondsmen if he reneges on us."  

Cory leans towards Shawn and adds, "...or we can sic Feeny on you."

Shawn lifts his hands, defeated.  "You got me," he says.  "I'll be on my best behavior."  He walks around to the other side of the couch, and the girls meet him halfway for a hug.  "I mean it," he says, almost too quiet for Topanga to hear.  "I'm sorry.  I won't do it again."

When it's over, Maya steps back, Shawn's wallet in her hand.  "What?" she asks to Riley's disapproving look, pulling out the money he'd promised them.  "He coulda stopped me."

"It _was_ pretty clumsy," he says.  "I've had my pocket picked by the best - getting out of Paris was a _nightmare_  without my passport - but you got a ways to go, kid."

"Not that you're going to practice," Topanga says.

"No, ma'am," Maya says, giving her a little salute, a twenty-dollar bill folded between two fingers.  "Definitely not."  She and Riley do a little ceremonial hand-off, Maya handing Riley a ten, Riley handing it back.  "Nice doing business with ya," Maya tells Shawn, returning his wallet.

"So, ha," Cory starts nervously, "what were you betting about, anyway?"

"Oh, you know," Maya says, shrugging.  "How you were going to settle your... weirdness."  She gestures at the three adults with an overlapping wave of both hands.

"Maya said you were going to figure it out before Auggie went off to college," Riley explains.  "I thought that if you hadn't by now, it was _never_ gonna happen."

Topanga wonders how long the girls had been watching, but doesn't want to ask.  She exchanges glances with Shawn that tells her he's on the same page; Cory's mouth is pressed into a thin line, and his ears are bright pink.

Riley switches gears like she doesn't notice, turning to Maya.  "Hey, sweetie?" she asks in a saccharine voice.  "Wanna go to Demolition?"

"...you want that choker you saw on the mannequin in the window, don't you?" Maya asks dryly.  "Oh, fine, your dad looks like he's going to have an aneurysm and I don't want to be here if blood starts shooting out of his nose."

"Yay," Riley says as they head towards the door, "and also ew."

"Back by dinner!" Topanga tells them, and they wave assent as they go.

The door is barely closed before Cory blurts, "They _knew_? How did they know? _We_ didn't even know!"

Topanga pats his arm consolingly.  "There may have been a few signs," she points out.  His behavior at Christmas, for one.

"I'm just glad Maya's not mad at me," Shawn comments with a sigh.  "For her own sake or her mom's."

"I think Katy will be fine," Topanga says.  She  _may_ have set Katy up with a paralegal at her firm. He's smart, stable, and very cute.  Also five years younger than Katy, which she finds enormously flattering.  It's too soon to tell, but they've gone out a few times, and Topanga knows that he's not the only prospect Katy has, now that she's back on the market.  "And you don't have to be a  _dad_ to be here for Maya."

"Sure," Shawn says, looking pensive.

"Uncle Shawn!" Auggie cries, which is all the warning they get before the boy barrels into the room.  Shawn stoops down for a hug.

"Hey," he says, "at least I don't have to bribe this one."

"Or us," Cory adds.

"Speak for yourself," Topanga says.

Shawn stands up again, giving her a smile that sends a flush across her cheeks.  "We gonna haggle?"

"Nah," she says.  "Let's see what the market can bear."

 

***

 

Minkus sends a Tesla limousine to pick the girls up from the airport.  Shawn laughs like a hyena when he sees it.  Cory immediately strikes up a conversation with the driver, asking him a hundred questions from handling to energy efficiency to whether he's getting paid a fair wage.  Topanga's torn; it seems excessive, but it _is_ an electric, which is much better than the stretch Hummers she's seen pulled up at corporate galas.

"Have fun," they each tell the girls in turn, "call when you can.  Take care of each other."

"Why can't I go to space camp?" Auggie asks, sulking.

"It's for school," Cory says, waving at the vehicle as it pulls away from the curb.  Riley and Maya wave back from the sunroof.  "Sit down!" he calls to them.  "Put on your seatbelts!" but they're already too far away to hear him.  "They have to take notes and give a report when they get back."

"You turned space camp into school?" Auggie asks incredulously. "Why would you ruin something so beautiful?"

Shawn chuckles.  "Because that's what parents do, little man.  Uncles, on the other hand, get to challenge you to Pokemon duels.  Whaddya say?"

Auggie grins up at him.  "Are you kidding? I'm going to wipe the _floor_ with you and your stupid Charizard!"

"Kids," Cory says, shaking his head.  "They got no respect for the classics."

They all troop inside, and Topanga busies herself with triple-checking Auggie's suitcase.  Last time, he'd taken out all his pants so he'd have more room for his picture books.  Amy had sent him home in one of Cory's old pairs of acid-washed overalls, musty from the attic and a size and a half too big, cuffed tightly at the ankles.  Topanga had laughed until she'd _cried_.  She remembers those jeans, and how Cory had gotten the grass stains on the knees from a wheelbarrow race that had ended in a tangle of limbs and skinned palms.

Still, she does want Amy to think she knows what to pack for a kid's weekend trip, thank you _very_ much.  She also wants to keep herself occupied, because otherwise, she finds herself looking over at Cory and Shawn and ends up befuddled with vague inclinations and worries and too many other emotions to name.  Unpacking Auggie's stuff and repacking it neatly, finding room for last-minute necessities, keeps her grounded.

Bringing the suitcase and a canvas tote that contains both Auggie's pillow and Mr. Googly downstairs, she finds Amy already cooing over her grandson and telling him all about their plans for the weekend, while Alan is chatting amiably with Shawn about his travels.  Cory is fussing, grabbing too many of Auggie's jackets, staring at the pile of shoes in the closet with dismay, checking the weekly forecast despite this trip only lasting three days.

"We'll be _fine_ ," Alan says finally, taking Auggie's luggage and another bag full of assorted shoes and outerwear.  "Man, I haven't seen you this worked up since the first time you let someone else watch Riles."

"I just want everything to be okay," Cory says, and Shawn's forehead creases in both sympathy and amusement.

"We know," Amy says, standing to give her son's face an indulgent pat.  "Your boyfriend Shawn is here, and you want everything to go well."

Topanga feels her joints lock up.  Amy's joking, she always is, but it hits Topanga like a physical shove.

"Ha ha," Shawn says, expression and voice on key but the set of his spine and shoulders stiff, "all these years, and he still hasn't made an honest man of me."

"Well, Topanga _did_ see him first," Alan says.  He shifts his armful of stuff over to the other side and holds out a hand to Auggie.  "C'mon, kiddo, let's get on the road.  We're burning daylight."

There's a flurry of hugs and kisses and goodbyes and a last minute potty break for Auggie and then more goodbyes before Alan and Amy and Auggie head out.  In the wake of that chaos, the house seems enormous and eerily quiet.

"Oh thank god," Shawn says, collapsing onto the arm of the couch.  "I don't know if I was gonna survive that.  Is that how it is for you, Topanga?"

She smirks down at him from where she's standing next to him.  "My _whole_ life."

"Okay, so here's the plan," Cory starts.

"Of course he has a plan," Shawn says.

"Not shocked in the slightest," Topanga agrees, slipping her arm over his shoulders as his winds around her waist, and they listen to Cory pitch his latest idea.

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's going pear-shaped on me again (hence the delay on this chapter), so I may not add more; this seems like a decent enough stopping point for now, but I'll add a final chapter or epilogue if/when I get the chance.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Usufruct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596293) by [klb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klb/pseuds/klb)




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